Surfer saved me from a fatal wipe-out

STRUGGLING in deep sea water off Sandymouth, Cornwall, last week, I found that no matter how hard I swam, or which stroke I used, I could not get back to shore. So I waved to a nearby surfer. He waved back. I called out: ‘I think I need some help.’ He paddled over and I hung onto his board. I thought of saying: ‘I wasn’t waving, I was drowning,’ but decided that was a little glib in the circumstances. Then a Royal National Lifeboat Institution rescuer paddled out a special kayak and the drama was over. Being caught by a rip tide isn’t funny. I learned later that a teenager had recently drowned at the same spot. And it was all my own fault. I hadn’t paid attention to the warning signs on the road down to the beach to swim only in specially-designated areas. A Guardian writer, Chris Broughton, had a far worse experience in the same area. Out of his depth, he was battered and winded by huge waves and repeatedly plunged beneath the surface until his lungs were bursting. Fortunately for him, his feet did finally touch sand and he stumbled ashore in great pain. He subsequently wrote: ‘Looking down, I could make out the strange peak at the top of my chest where my arm joint, torn clean out of its socket during the struggle, was protruding beneath the skin.’ The North Devon and Cornwall beaches, cliffs and cliffside walks are quite magnificent. The swimming is grand, too. But I must pay attention to warning notices.